Good Deed, Go To Hell
by Yimon The Catman
Summary: Poor, poor Justin. His boyfriend is an evil boy, HIS mother is a loon, and now Justin has to try and sort it all out!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Desperate Housewives, or any of the characters or people mentioned in this fic. I wish I owned one of them, but I don't. I'll get over it. And if not, I can write myself into one of these things with him. Meanwhile, I can't be sued. Good, eh?

Psychiatrists notes - Bree Van De Kamp

Since her husband's death, I personally have noticed Bree's behaviour becoming increasingly erratic. She appears to withdraw into herself at the slightest provocation, and during this time projects a façade that cannot be broken. I've already filed for this to be named 'The Stepford Wife Complex'. I hope to get my name in the next edition of 'The Medical Journal'. Oh, that'd really show my workmates…and my wife. She'll regret ever running away with her tennis coach once I'm famous.

…

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Pardon. As I was saying, Bree's behaviour exhibits all the stereotypes of the ideal wife, and this ties in with the idea that perhaps she is trying to make up for the stress she caused Rex in life. Maybe she even believes during these catatonic moments that he is still with her, and this is why she tries to be perfect, as a spouse. Unlike certain other spouses I could mention.

…

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Excuse me. Bree's 'antics' are not going unnoticed amongst the residents of Wisteria Lane either. Although I reprimand gossiping, and view it as an unhealthy habit, I admit I am intrigued by the housewives tales. Apparently Bree has been seen watering her flower beds in the middle of the night, and neighbours have heard hoovering at unearthly hours in the morning. When I mention this to Bree, she has no recollection of this, and in fact disregards it as the hallucinations of a bored neighbourhood. This reinforces my theory that Bree enters a catatonic state at times when she is under stress, and possibly (taking into account the nighttime activities) sleepwalks as well.

Another interesting thing I feel the need to mention is a sudden change in Bree's perceptions of historic events. I don't mean she has begun denying the Holocaust, or 9/11, of course not. I'm referring to my notes of a previous session, before Rex's death, when we were talking about Bree's anal retentiveness, attention to detail, and obsessive compulsion. In the session, we talked about her mother's death, and Bree revealed to me an interesting and important fact about the night, possibly the root of all her trouble (see notes, 5/6/05)

However, when I quizzed her about it recently, thinking perhaps I would be able to connect her current situation with it, I was met with a wall of blankness. Bree has retained no memory of the night which we only talked about a month or so ago. For some reason, her subconscious has deleted it, and now Bree cannot remember what happened to her parent. In fact, I have begun to suspect that her mind has cut out that entire section judging from the state she enters when interrogated about that time period. I suspect there is a much deeper lying reason than just the grief of her husbands demise, although this acts as a catalyst to the problem. I will make a note to pursue this line of thought.

End of notes. Back home to sob into Jillian's answering machine again.

…

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Justin gasped. Every muscle in his body tightened, and his body bucked. For a moment, his body arched into the air, he froze. Then he slowly sank back onto the bed, and felt a hand gently snake its way back up his body. He drew a breath, feeling the damp on his skin drying quickly, only to sense a tongue following the path of the hand before it. He had to exhale again.

Andrew curled up next to him, hand possesively splayed over Justins chest. He started making small slow circles with his index finger, each time digging in slightly with his nail, leaving a tiny red semicircle enunciating the edge. Just to let Justin know who was boss. He half expected the younger boy to start tattooing his name into his chest. 'Property of Andrew Van De Kamp. Do Not Touch!'. To be honest, he wouldn't put it past him. He was very possesive, despite the fact that Justin was both older and bigger. Something else that confused the boy was their respective connections. The fact of Andrew's clutching hold of him, yet his relaxed attitude to their 'relationship', if it could be called that, confused Justin. In the end, it came down to the fact that Justin was in love, sweet, unconditional love, and Andrew...well, Andrew seemed to be out for a cheap shag whenever he wanted it, froma person who could be relied on to deliver exactly what was wanted. Just like after his father had died, Andrew never showed his feelings about anything. Maybe it was that deep down, he never wanted to admit an attachment to another person for fear of losing them as well.

"You know, that Solis woman you garden for. Since her husbands in prison, you couldn't hook me and her up, could you? Just for half an hour or so?"

Then again, maybe the boy was just an asshole. A possesive, hoarding, callous asshole. But unfortunately...

"Maybe."

...he was too gutless and whipped to say anything.

Any further treacherous thoughts were cut short, as the sound of a door opening and closing echoed down the hall. Justin froze then, as footsteps sounded down the hall, leapt up. Both boys were totally and utterly naked, and although that had been a good thing seconds before, with the sudden arrival of someone else, it was now most cetainly not a situation either one wanted to be caught in. Wrapping a sheet around himself, he cast about on the floor for his clothes. Nowhere. He glanced at Andrew, who was twirling something around his finger.

"What are you doing? We need to hide, or to get dressed, or..." Wait. Twirling something.

Upon a cursory inspection, the item turned out to be Justins pants. He watched gobsmacked, too stunned and scared to even protest, as Andrew stood. A slow, sinister smile grew

across the younger boys face. "What's the rush? Why don't you get back onto the bed, huh? There's nothing to worry about."

Justin croaked, then moistened his tongue. "What? Do you want to be caught by your mother? Gimme those!" He tried to snatch them out of his grasp, but Andrew lithely skipped out of his reach. Opening the door, he turned and stared at Justin again with a look of real malice in his eyes."Oh, MO-OM!"

Again Justin froze, as Bree's voice floated down the hall. "What is it, Andrew?" she said, stepping through the door to see the whole scene, the two boys, one still sporting the remenants of a woody, the rumpled bed. Everything. For a moment Justin saw in her eyes shock, and despair.

Then, suddenly, they glazed over, and Bree's face split into a smile. Andrew watched with an evil glint in his eyes, as he passed Justin's underwear and trousers to his mother. "Mom, I

need these washed. For a long time. So, say, if I wanted to go out and only had them with me, then I couldn't. Like I say, for a loooong time."

Bree took the clothes, and folded them up over her arm. Without even looking at her son or Justin, she focused on the desk. "Certainly Andrew. Are you doing your homework?"

What? Justin looked to Andrew confused, who giggled, and said "Actually Mum, I've just sucked off Justin, and I loved every second of it. What do you think of that?"

Bree kept smiling. "Well once you're finished, come downstairs. I've been baking cookies." And with that, she drifted out of the door.

Justin sank down onto the bed, his heart beating way too fast for his own good. Andrew crawled onto it too, putting his head on Justins shoulder and nibbling at his ear. "She keeps blocking out whatever she can't face. She's become a robot. You can do anything in front of her, and so long as it's bad enough, she just blocks it. She's gone totally loony."

Justin looked at the boy in horror. He knew as well as anybody, if not better, the problems Andrew had with his parents, especially his mother, but this...this was a boy who was taking advantage of his mothers problems. Not only that, but he was enjoying them too! He was almost too shocked to do anything, but when Andrew started to reach around him, he stood up and went to the window. Not the best idea in retrospect, considering the next door neighbours happened to have a brilliant view of the window and had looked up just in time to spot Justin in all his glory.

He backpedalled, and ran into Andrew who'd come up just behind him. After what had just happened, even the touch of the others skin was making him cringe, and the skin on his neck was trying to crawl away from his warm breath on it. Turning, he took hold of the shorter boys shoulders, and readied himself to tell Andrew just what he thought, no matter what he would say.

But just one look into the slightly concerned gorgeous brown eyes stopped him. He let Andrew lead him back to the bed and lay down, hating himself, hating Andrew, but knowing that he could never let go of the boy. His love may be possesive, but Justin knew for a fact that if they split up, it would be his heart that got broken...

Across the street and a couple of houses down, Julie sat in her kitchen handing enormous wads of tissue to a sobbing Danielle. For almost two hours now, the girl had been crying over her mother's problems, her brother's uncaringness, her father, John, then back to her mother. The cycle just went round and round, and nice as Julie was, she couldn't help yawning as the blonde went into yet another whine about her ex. She kept recalling her mother crying for about ten minutes over her father, and then getting on with her life. She was really starting to wish that Danielle would do that too.

"A-a-a-a-and then he sa-a-a-a-aid that he was breaking up with me because I wouldn't have sex with hiiiiiiiiiiiim-uhhuh-huh-huuuuuuuh!" Danielle collapsed into fresh sobs, dumping a sodden mass of paper onto the countertop. Julie silently handed her another handful, rubbing her back with one hand and clenching the other one rhythmically under the surface. She muttered something noncommital yet caring, in the hope of escaping another lecture. Unfortunately...

"That's what I said to him! And then when I said I would have sex with him, just to make him happy, he just walked off! What does that mean?"

Murmurmurmurmurmur. Don't say anything that means anything and you might get away from it...

"He has another girlfriend? How do you know this? You've seen them together? Oh, Gooooooooood-uhhuh-huh-huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh!"

Dammit. She'd started to hear what she wanted to hear. Julie handed the girl another bunch of tissues, and settled down to wait...it wasn't even as if this was the first time this had happened. Far from it. Almost once a week, Danielle turned up at her door in tears, usually after some disaster like the fact that she couldn't find something 'important', like a certain sock or similar. Since her father's death, coupled with her mother's breakdown, then seasoned with John being a bastard, she'd become so fragile. Like that time when Julie's mom thought she was pregnant and started having mood swings and eating for two, despite the fact that she wasn't really. Before John, Danielle was unbreakable, untouchable, as solid as her virginity, but now...well, Julie could imagine what such a terrible time must be like, but still. Was it critical that SHE be Danielle's shoulder to cry on every time?

Then Julie felt guilty. Sure, she'd 'lost' a father, but she'd lost him in the way when she usually got to see him a couple of times every month. And if her mom and Mike got together properly, then she'd have another dad, although at the rate their relationship was going, two steps forward, three steps back, that wasn't so probable. But Danielle would never see her dad again. Her mother being a - Julie mentally apologised for using the phrase - total and utter crazy, too, severly lessened her chances of meeting someone to take Rex's place as well. Danielle was so much worse off than her, and here she was, wishing that the girl would stop bugging her. And she was supposed to be her friend?

Still, Julie thought, as the blonde spontaneously burst into another tearful rant, it would be nice to get some sleep for once...

Justin slowly climbed out of the bed. Stretching and feeling the bones crack in his back and neck, he reflected that, despite how loving/crazy-possesive Andrew might be, they had to stop trying to sleep together for a whole night in a single bed. If they did it much more, one of them would wake up hunchbacked.

Padding to the door, he opened it carefully. The slightest sound was usually enough to wake the boy still sleeping on the bed, in case it was his...mother. More and more of the puzzle as to why Andrew had changed so much recently was slotting into place, with this new discovery. Why he was willing to be seen in public being closer to Justin than would be expected, how he was able to make time for him so much now, why he was more relaxed in 'certain matters' in his home...Justin could see the benefits, but still. He shuddered as he thought of the look in Mrs Van De Kamps eyes last night. How they had gone from so full of emotion to so...empty. Just glazed and glassy. Like a dolls.

Moving into the corridor, he looked into Danielles room. The bed was unslept in, so she must have stayed the night at Julies. That was good. He'd had to employ some pretty swift manuevers the last time he'd been wandering about early in the morning and she'd suddenly appeared. It was just some quick reflexes and her early morning tiredness that had saved him. Since then, he'd been more careful, but it was good to know he only had one person to look out for. And no, he wasn't counting Andrew's mom.

He needed to get out of there. First it had been an evening spent there every now and then, then it had been a night, slipping away in the early hours, then it was an afternoon and a night, now it was afternoon, night and morning. He really didn't want to move in permanently, but Andrew almost had him held hostage. The clothes last night was the last straw. If Andrew planned for him to move in, he was going to have to ask Justin first, and he wasn't going to be strongarmed into it. He was going to find his clothes then, dry or not, he was getting out of there. If he called John from his cell phone, he could get picked up from here.

Shit! His phone! It was still on the dresser upstairs. Justin looked back, then made for the stairs. He'd have to sacrifice it for now. He'd be back in a couple of days to get it.

First stair didn't creak. Next step didn't either. Justin kept hearing what sounded to him like earsplitting noises and bumps, and at one point thought he heard a loud pounding that was threatening to wake up the entire street, let alone just the house. It turned out to be his heart. Without making a sound, the boy got all the way down the stairs, and headed for the kitchen, the undisturbed air cold on his body. Holding his shirt over one arm, he walked through to the washing machine to retrieve the rest of his clothes. Picking them out, he considered. They would be really vile to walk home in, especially in the cold. Hesitating only a moment, he flung them in the dryer and settled down to wait.

He sat down on the cold tiles, flinching a little as his naked butt hit them. Looking about the immaculate room, with the coloured coded bins for lights, darks, delicates and all the rest of them, he felt that he was an unwelcome germ in this clinical smelling room. Did Mrs Van De Kamp sterilise everything in her home once a week? He could understand Andrew's dislike of this woman who had taken her hatred of uncleanliness and made it something...scary.

But did that warrant this treatment of her? Justin didn't think so. But, then he'd never lived with her. He hadn't spent any amount of time with her which could even be defined as meeting her. Save for the unfortunate incident last night. But then, Mrs Van De Kamp hadn't been in possesion of her body then, so he didn't think it counted. What kind of a way would that be to explain to your friends how you get on with your boyfriends family? 'Yes, I met Andrew's mother once, but she was in a catatonic state brought on by shock and the recent demise of her husband, and I didn't actually register in her brain. So how's the family, Brad?'

Of course, that was assuming that they'd ever go to anything as a public couple. A big consideration.

As to Mrs Van De Kamp, there was one other thing. She'd never told him he would go to Hell for being gay.

Justin shook his head. If he ever got around to telling his family he was gay, he knew they'd be a little shocked, maybe disappointed. But to tell him he was going to Hell? No, they wouldn't do that to him. But Andrew. It had screwed Andrew up quite a bit. One day he'd been getting on pretty good with his mother, then the next he was plotting something that was either going to scar her mentally for life, or kill her. He'd asked what the matter was, and Andrew had told him, with such venom that Justin had reeled back in horror. But then, having had it just revealed to him that his love was a psychopath who was willing to go postal on his mother at the slightest provocation, Justin got drawn into it. Last night he'd realised that he was a weapon that Andrew had no qualms against using at his mother, and no matter how much he was in love, there are a couple of things that typically people can't take.

But still. He dipped his hand into a basket of Andrew's laundry, and drew out a t-shirt. He smiled. This had been the one he'd worn when they'd gone biking that warm day last week. He could still smell the fresh air and grass from the shirt, coupled with Andrew's scent. Of course, he hadn't been wearing it for the whole day. Justin blushed shyly as the smell rose the memories. That was the Andrew he loved. The athletic, fun-loving boy, who always smiled and just lived life as it came. The freedom, the adventure. Everything being new and fresh to him.

The dryer stopped turning, and Justin grinned. Pulling it open, he drew his clothes out and held them to his face. "Mmmm...warm...hehehe." He put his clothes on, the warmth delicious against his skin, made cold from the room.

Suddenly there was a noise from the living room, a quiet cough. Justin tensed, praying it wasn't Andrew, praying he wouldn't be caught making a run for it. Slowly, he crept through the kitchen, and peered round into the living room.

Mrs Van De Kamp sat there, a tissue held tight to her face. She silently shuddered, tears streaming down her cheeks and her mouth gasping quietly as she tried to muffle the sobs. Justin moved further into the room, unsure if she would register him or not. Unsure if either way it was what he wanted. "Mrs Van De Kamp? Can you hear me?"

Bree didn't make a sound, or turn her head, but seemed to nod ever so slightly. Justin stuck his hands into his pockets, and looked down at his bare feet. "I think you can hear me, I don't know. But whatever the case is, I want to say I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I never wanted anything to do with this, and I apologise for Andrew too."

The woman made the coughing, sobbing noise he'd heard once, and Justin reached forward, plucking the tissue from her hands and replacing it with a new one from the table in front of her. "Mrs Van De Kamp, I like your son, and I think he likes me. But I won't be used as a weapon against you. I'm going to go, and I'll try really hard not to come back. Again, I'm sorry."

Bree straightened slightly and opened her mouth. "Don't go..."

Justin leant in. "You can hear me? You can speak?"

She grabbed his face and rubbed at his cheek. "Oh, you have a little mark just there on your _help me I need to get out I'm trapped in_ cheek. Just let me get _my mind I keep blanking out you're the only one who knows I can't tell_ that for you and we'll both feel much _anyone I just can't I want my life back_ better! There!" And she stepped back, composed and aloof, almost all trace of her crying gone and without a hint of the desperation Justin had only seen a second ago.

He looked wide eyed at the woman, confused and scared as she put her hands on her hips and judged him. "Well, I'm not sure I approve of what you're wearing, but if it's what kids are dressing in nowadays I can't complain. My Andrew, he's always wearing the baggiest jeans, and these funny tops. And Danielle! I thought I'd brought her up better than to be wearing skirts that have an above the knee hemline, but if it's what's in fashion then my kids won't hear a word against it!" She smiled, and putting a hand on Justin's arm guided him to the door. "I assume we'll be seeing you again soon, dear? Certainly. Next time I'll cook something special for you, okay?"

Justin walked through the door, and turned back to stare at Mrs Van De Kamp. She'd had control of her body for a moment back then, and now he could sense it was gone. Somehow, whether it was that he'd got through, or that she'd been able to fight through it, she'd passed a message to him. She needed his help. For some reason, she wanted HIM to help her. He squared his shoulders. "Whether you can hear me or not, Mrs Van De Kamp, I'll help you. I'll come back soon."

Momentarily, the mask slipped, and Justin saw in her eyes relief so great he couldn't help but be happy with her. Then she smiled, and her eyes glazed over again. "That's just super, dear. See you soon too!"

Justin turned away, and started walking back to the apartment. Oh, he was screwed now.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own none of the people in this fic, but watch out for me making a cameo in the background eventually! I think I own myself, right? Oh, wait. No. The government do...dammit.

Psychiatrists Notes - Bree Van De Kamp

There has been an interesting development in Bree's case since I last saw her. I had begun to notice, during our weekly sessions, that she had begun to change. I haven't discerned exactly what it is, but I believe that her facade has begun to crack. Something has been putting her under unbelieveable stress, and it would appear that her sanctuary/prison cannot hold up to it. I use the slash because as of this moment I'm still unsure of what happens in Bree's mind. We were discussing her children last time, and whle we were talking I suddenly noticed her expression change drastically from a smile into an almost terrible look of despair. It was gone so quickly, replaced again with the smile, that I momentarily believed perhaps I had invented it, or seen something I had not comprehended properly. But now I am sure. Bree's personality came through very quickly for just a second, breaking through the persona she has trapped herself in. This is what leads me to believe that there are cracks appearing in her shelter, brought on by her desire to escape, or by a third party who I know little about as of yet.

I will continue the study of this next time.

"...and that's what she said to you?" John leant back, a small smile playing around his face and a frown creasing his forehead slightly. "She asked you to help her...to-"

"Regain her sanity for her, yes." Justin sighed with exasperation. "I can't believe you don't believe me on this!"

John shook his head. "It's not that I don't believe you. It's just that I've never really heard of something like this happening. Sounds like a Jerry Springer title. 'My boyfriends gay-hating mother wants me to find her marbles'. That'd be one hell of an episode!"

Justin opened his mouth to argue, then realised that was exactly what it was. He folded his arms and pouted. "It's not my fault that she wants me to help her. I guess she didn't have her daughters boyfriend to choose, so I was the one to get it."

John narrowed his eyes at Justin. "Justin, don't go there. Let's keep away from the subject of me and Danielle, alright?" He stood up, and then looked down at Justin. "And don't pout. Makes you look gay." He laughed, then jumped out of the way of Justins swipe. Going to the door, he grabbed his coat and said "I'm going to Mrs Scolese's. Back later, okay?"

Justin turned and, peering over the back of the armchair, growled at him. "Just don't get me beaten up by her husband again, alright? This face too pretty to be broken!"

John laughed again, and shut the door. Justin listened for the sound of his footsteps clunking heavily down the corridor past the wall. When he couldn't hear them any more, he sank back into the chair, drawing his feet up into him. He was wearing only a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, having just got out of the shower. He could still feel a couple of cold drips running down the back of his shirt to make him shiver, but he ignored them.

He'd always liked John. John had been the first boy who'd made him think 'Hold on. I'd rather have a piece of that than a cheerleader'. He'd even tried to kiss him one night, when they were both a little drunk from a party, but he'd chickened out at the last moment. If there was one thing that John wasn't, it was gay. His devotion to his mistress was enough to prove that, and Justin could only watch him from a distance. So maybe it was a bit...wierd, but John didn't know, and no one else did. Besides, they were friends first, and Justin valued that more than Johns hot, hot torso...alright, as much as, then.

As to telling him about Mrs Van De Kamp, well, he'd had to tell someone just to ease his own worry. It was so odd for this to have happened that Justin almost didn't believe it himself. If John had said 'This is ridiculous, forget it', then Justin would have put it to the back of his mind, safe in the reassurance from the other boy that he'd imagined it, dreamt it, misinterpreted it. It was one of those situations.

His face hardened as he considered what he would have to do now. Not something he'd really studied before, helping middle aged women break out of their minds. That was one of the reasons he'd talked to John, one of the many reasons. He understood middle aged women better. Hell, he'd been seduced by one...although from the little Justin had seen of Gabrielle, she was a long way from middle aged still. Like she said, 'you weren't middle aged until your children were the same age as the man you were sleeping with'.

Suddenly he saw the answer. Mrs Scolese. She was Bree's friend, she knew her much better than he did. Perhaps that was how he was supposed to help. To get the message she'd given him to as many of her friends as possible, then stand back as they got her through this. Yes, that was it. He'd go and tell Mrs Scolese. She'd know what to do. She'd helped so much before, and now that he and her were on good terms, it would be perfect. She also already knew vaguely how he would have found this out, and that was something he didn't especially want to explain to any of the other wives.

He stood up, almost painfully aware of the voice in the back of his head telling him that all he was doing was passing the buck. Trying to ignore it, he wandered into his bedroom, and tried to pick out a pair of matching socks from the pile of clean laundry...or was this the dirty pile? Or the too small pile? He considered the room, before shrugging and going to steal a pair from Johns almost immaculate room. He'd give them back...probably.

John and Gabrielle looked at him with matching icy glares as he sat on the couch. Since John had taken his truck, and Justin didn't have a car, he'd had to walk to Wisteria Drive, meaning John had been there for a good fifteen minutes before he'd arrived. They'd clearly wasted no time. As he cast a glance over Mrs Scolese's tiny silk dressing gown, and John in unbuttoned jeans and a t-shirt on inside out, shoes probably left upstairs, Justin wondered again why he hadn't left it until John had come back, or at least given them a decent hour or so to 'trim the hedges'. From their expressions, it was clear they were thinking that too.

Gabrielle pulled her feet up under her, then realised the dressing gown rode up quite a bit each time she did that. Considering at full length it only just reached her knees, that was probably giving one hell of a view to the two boys. She discreetly put them down again, earning a pout from John and a relieved sigh from a clearly uncomfortable Justin. "So, Justin, what brings you out here? Now. Today. Why?" John backed her up with a glare, and Justin shifted again.

"Well, I need some help, Mrs Scolese."

"I see." Was this the same kind of 'help' he'd wanted a while back, she wondered? She leant forward, before realising this, also, was not a good postion for the dressing gown. Why had she bought it again? It certainly wasn't designed for hiding the body of the wearer to any great degree. She huffed and bundled the fabric tighter around her neck, hiding the sudden valley of cleavage that had appeared a moment before. She smiled, and composed herself. "Justin..."

He smiled and visibly relaxed at the tone of her voice. She smiled wider, showing small perfect teeth. "...If you want me to have sex with you, then I swear no matter what, I will kill you with my bare nails."

Justin gulped, and the smile dropped off his face. "N-no, Mrs Scolese-"

"Please, call me Gabrielle. 'Mrs Scolese' makes me feel old. And married."

She smiled at him, still with the slightly malevolent glint in her eyes. Justin stammered "No problem, Mrs S-sco...sorry, G-Gabrielle. It's something different. S-something you might want t-to know about..."

She sighed, and turned to John. "This will take all day. Could you go get him a glass of water? And stop glaring at him like that! You'll make the poor boy feel he's unwelcome!"

"He is."

"Beside the point. He's come here to tell me something, and you're not helping. Look..." She leant across and whispered something in his ear. He grinned widely.

"Really?"

She smiled, and nodded. "Now, go get him water, then go upstairs, okay? I'll get rid of him soon."

He stood up, and went to get the water. Gabrielle and Justin sat in silence until he came back, then Gabrielle gave John a kiss, and sent him off. The two watched him go up the stairs, then Gabrielle sighed, and leant forward. "Better?"

Justin nodded, not really trusting his tongue to be able to say something as complex as 'Yes'. Truth be told, he was more scared of the woman than he was of John. Sure, John was bigger and stronger than Justin, and could easily kick his ass, but Gabrielle had this air that made you think that she would be able to hurt you so much. She probably could too. When she'd been working out on her porch, Justin had seen the wiry muscles usually hidden under that flawless skin. He swore some had been bigger than his, for goodness sake.

She smiled. "Good. Now, please. Tell me what was so important that it couldn't wait...an hour, maybe?"

"Well, I was over at Mrs Van De Kamps house...with my friend, Andrew-"

"Ah, so HE'S the one! That makes sense." Mrs Scolese sat back, contently.

"Yeah, but, that doesn't matter right now. You're Mrs Van De Kamps friend, aren't you? Have you noticed anything different about her recently? Like...wierd?"

She thought for a moment. "Her anal retentiveness? But that's not new...her cleaning at wierd hours? Well, now she's got no one to do her S&M with, she needs to find something else to do...The fact that her son is being screwed by a boy who is even now sitting in my house making me play stupid guessing games while I could be upstairs indulging in some extra-maritial activity? No, that doesn't happen too often. Thankfully."

She sat back. "Apart from that, no. I've not noticed anything, really."

Justin sat for a moment, slightly confused, his brain racing to keep up with Gabrielle. The woman was clever. Hell, she'd hidden John from her husband for almost three months, and now he was in prison. You didn't get more cunning than that. Then, as he comprehended what she'd been saying, he frowned. "Nothing out of the ordinary? At all?"

She looked sidewards at him, her eyes narrowed in a silent question. Then she leant forward. "Well...there have been little things. Just certain phrases. Like, I said something to her, something about Rex. I was trying to be nice! Then..." She sighed, and sat back. "She just...clammed up. She just gave me a look, and suddenly she went all silent on me. Like what I did to my husband when I didn't get my diamonds. But this was different, in a way. The look she gave me wasn't an angry look, or a sad look. It was sort of desperate. And then she went silent, and now she won't talk about it. She goes on about flower arranging and cooking and stuff. Stuff she used to talk about, but less. She was so much more alive. I don't know where she's gone."

Gabrielle's eyes were glittering as she looked without seeing at the wall. Her mascara was in danger of being irretrievably ruined, before she suddenly sniffed, and blinked the tears back. She looked at Justin properly. "Something has changed with her. What do you know about it, Justin?"

Justin leant forward and recounted the events of the morning as he had with John, with a little less use of the phrase 'old bag of crazy-crazy', and referring to Mrs Van De Kamp by her name, rather than 'the Nazi-hag'. Partly because he felt guilty about having called her that at all, and partly out of respect for Gabrielle. She listened avidly to the tale, not saying anything apart from 'Yes' and 'I see'. Finally, Justin sat back, and waited for Mrs Scolese to say something.

She considered, her manicured nails resting lightly on her cheek. Justin admired the simply fabulous varnish she had on. Then he mentally sucker-punched himself. There were times when even he knew he was being too gay. Even if they were only mental times.

Suddenly Mrs Scolese looked at him, her eyes boring into his, and a slight smile at the corner of her mouth. "I think I know what we have to do, Justin. It's clear that Bree is in need of someone to help her, and you telling me about this was a good idea, rather than you just forgetting it."

He sighed contentedly, and sat back. "So, I'll go now, and you and John can get back to...whatever you promised him. Then you can tell all the other wives, and you'll take care of her." He stood, and streched.

Then Gabrielle laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry, Justin. This is your problem."

Justin paused, still half bent over backwards. Then he slowly turned his head to stare fully at Gabrielle. Shock was coursing through him, coupled with one thought yelling that it was all a cruel joke, and that she was just kidding, while another thought hopped up and down on top of that one, saying she was serious and he shouldn't have tried to weasel out of it in the first place. He decided to ignore the latter. "You're...joking, right? Of course you are. Very funny, Mrs Scolese."

She glared at him. "What have I said about the Mrs Scolese thing? For goodness sake, I broke John of it, you should be easier. No, I'm not joking. Now, straighten up." She smiled, mischeviously. "And yes, I do realise the irony there."

Now it was Justin's turn to glower at her, but she stopped that with a sigh, and a glint of her eyes. "I'm not joking, Justin. Like I've said, all of the wives have noticed something might be wrong with Bree. Did you think we hadn't tried to help her before now, when this started? She can't let us in. We all thought that she couldn't let anyone in...and now you've come along." She leant forward. "I think she can't let us in for exactly the reason that we're her friends. But you...Bree's a very 'careful' lady. I don't think she can reveal personal weakness unless she has a very powerful bargaining piece. And the fact that you're screwing her son without wanting anyone to find out...I'd say that was a pretty special piece to have."

"So you're saying that Mrs Van De Kamp is blackmailing me into helping her?" Justin sank back, an disbelieving look on his face. "Bitch."

Gabrielle momentarily narrowed her eyes, then shrugged. "Well, maybe. But still. It's what I'd do." She glanced at him, as he gave her her own incredulous look. "We wives have our pride. More than the dollars in our credit card accounts, it is our currency. Don't be so surprised."

Justin sat, and shook his head, as though trying to purge his head of all the terrible things that had happened during the day. And it was only ten in the morning! He raised his eyes to the ceiling. "So, I have to help my boyfriends Nazi-mom - No offence - and you won't help me."

Gabrielle frowned, although not enough to crease her brow too much. "Well, I will help you with what I can...but yes. I can't take an active role in this. None of us can."

Justin sighed, then realised something about what Gabrielle had just said. "What do you mean, 'none of us can'?"

Her eyes cast downwards, the only sign he'd seen that she could be cowed all day. "I...I think it would be a good idea if the other wives knew about this. About you."

Justin mock-pondered for a second. "Hmm, interesting point. Ask me again when Mr Scolese is out of jail, and we'll talk, okay?"

She glared at him, all trace of the embarrasment about her suggestion gone. "I mean it Justin! We can help you. Three heads are better than one, and if you don't let me tell them, you'll only have one head to get advice from. With two more people in on this, we could pool our knowhow, everything all of us know about Bree to help you get her out! But we'd need to know the whole of it. Your 'relation' to Andrew, how you got in on this..."

Justin shook his head. "I don't want you to tell them."

She sighed, exasperated. "I need to, Justin. We need to!"

He leapt up, angry. "No, Mrs Scolese!" He didn't care that he hadn't called her Gabrielle, and at this time neither did she. "I don't want you to tell them! I don't want you to tell anyone! Why would you need to? You can help me! I don't need anyone else! You're all that I need!"

She smiled, slightly sadly. "That would be so romantic if it were just in another context."

He sat down again, shuddering from the slight adreneline rush going through him. "I can't deal with it...not now. It wasn't so long ago that I was trying to have sex with you!" He sighed, as she raised an eyebrow. "Alright, so it was only just to prove to myself, and you indirectly, whether I was gay or not. But still! I'm just not ready to come out yet, you know? I can't deal with it. It's difficult enough knowing it myself. I don't want anyone else..."

Tears began to swell at the bottom of his eyes, and Gabrielle felt her heart squeeze with the sight. She gently moved from her chair to sit next to him on the expansive couch, careful not to let the gown ride up again. The state Justin was in, it could push him over the edge into full blown break down. Almost as if she wasn't really aware of what she was doing, Gabrielle laid a hand on his shoulder, then slowly began to massage it. "Shh, shh. Justin, listen to me. Is it really that bad that two more people know? Unless you're going to live the rest of your life like Liberachi, you'll have to start telling people. Is this not a good place to start? With people who know so little about you?"

He looked up, the tears still threatening to spill over, and nodded. One dislodged from his eye, and ran down his cheek, giving him a sweet innocent look. Gabrielle took a tissue from the box and dabbed at it, then wiped his eyes. "There we are. Don't cry. You'll ruin your mascara."

He chuckled through the sadness, and she smiled back. "Good boy. Now, come on. You come back here this evening, around five, and we'll work everything out, okay? I promise it will all be alright."

He nodded, and they stood, her hand resting on his back and projecting warmth to him. Guiding him to the front door, she gave him a smile, and opened it. He stepped out, then turned. "Thank you, Gabrielle. Thanks for everything." He started to walk away, then stopped again, and turned back. "Just out of interest..."

She looked questioningly at him, and he blushed slightly. "Erm...what was it you promised John when you sent him away?"

She opened her mouth, about to protest against the question, before she suddenly softened, and sighed. "I promised him that we didn't have to have sex. That we could just talk."

He stood, gobsmacked, before shaking his head. "I honestly don't know what goes through that boy's head. See ya later, Mrs Scolese." He turned, and still shaking his head walked down the path to the gate. Gabrielle watched him go, then smiled to herself, and shut the door.

Behind her, John grinned. "Is he gone? Can we go and talk now?" He was standing on the stairs, the T shirt having been lost already, the jeans still unbuttoned, gazing down at Gabrielle.

Gabrielle nodded at him, still smiling, remembering the sweet look on Justins face. He was such a handsome boy, it was only natural...then she stopped. Those weren't the sensations of lust. She mentally ran through the encounter. The wiping of his eyes, the reassuring of the boy, those weren't things you did to someone you wanted to get hot and steamy and horizontal (or vertical, or diagonal, or whatever) with! In fact, those were all sort of maternal...instincts...oh god.

John noticed her sudden freezing and the smile dropping off her face. He came down the rest of the stairs quickly, putting his arms around her and turning her to face him. "What is it? Was it something I said?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "No, don't worry, honey. I just thought of something."

He raised an eyebrow. "'Honey'? You're calling me 'honey', now? Sheesh, next you'll be wanting to get married and have kids! Although...if you want to, I'm happy with it...you know how I feel about that."

Gabrielle looked up into John's face. After she'd had the abortion, after Carlos had tricked her into pregnancy, it had only strengthened her resolve not to have a baby. But John would be a perfect father. He was kind, he was loving. Any of their babies would be absolutely gorgeous. She'd be able to support them purely on what Carlos had saved in the bank. So what if he was very young? They were in love. That should be all. And she could feel that she wanted one. Hell, she'd been on the verge of adopting Justin just then! But...

She smiled, masking the indecision. "No, you know how I feel about it too. It was just a phrase. Come on. Let's go upstairs."

John shrugged, and jogged up the stairs. Gabrielle momentarily paused, looking between the door and upstairs, between the two boys. Then she shook her head. "I'm too gorgeous for children." And with that, she followed John up.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own none of the people/places/thingys mentioned in the following. There. Ya happy?

P.S. I got a little angsty at the end of the last one. Unless lots of people really liked it that way, and they tell me it, then I can tell you it wasn't supposed to come out like that, and I'll probably be explaining it a little better later in the thing. So...get reviewing, people! Whee!

New note-made 23:52, 28 Oct 2005-Sorry about the delay, but I needed inspiration. Luckily, buying season 1 box set did it! And sorry about the end. Andrew is a horny little bunny...

Psychiatrists Notes - Bree Van De Kamp

Bree was unable to make her appointment this week, due to 'unforeseen circumstances'. No other explaination was given.

Justin cradled his head in his hands. "John, why am I doing this?"

John looked over from the closet in the corner of Justins room. After he'd got home, Justin's resolve about going to meet the other wives had shrunk, and John was trying to encourage Justin, while trying to find something suitable for the occasion. John didn't really know what to classify the occaision as, but he thought the outfit he'd picked out was pretty snappy.

Justin looked up at him from the bed, where he was lying in a towel. "I mean, really. Why am I doing this? I don't even like Mrs Van De Kamp, not really. Not even her own children like her. Why should I?"

John sighed. The conversation had already happened more than twice. "You're doing this, not because you want to help Mrs Van De Kamp, although that is an indirect effect. You're doing this because unless you want not to tell anyone you're gay, ever, then you need to start somewhere. And like Mrs Scolese said, this is a pretty good place. Of course, if you don't want to tell anyone," he motioned towards the open door, "closet's just here. Seems like you'd fit."

Justin sat up, and threw the pillow at him. "Not helping! Sarcasm is not necessary!"

"Awww, and when I was getting so good at it, too? You know, that towel's actually better than the outfit I've chosen. I agree with you. You should just go in that. That'd make a simply fabulous impression on the wives!" John limp-wristed at Justin, before ducking the book.

"John, I'm warning you! Just because I'm wearing a towel doesn't mean I can't take you in a fight!" Justin frowned, and put both hands on his hips. John collapsed into laughter.

"Jesus, could you be any gayer? And by the way? Just because you're wearing a towel doesn't mean you CAN take me in a fight. You can't normally, why should a couple of yards of flannel make any difference?"

Justin growled, and leapt off the end of the bed, but John ducked, and still laughing made it to the door. "You're going to wear what's on the chair. And your towel's falling down."

Flipping one finger at him, Justin stood up, trying to hold the towel up around his waist with one hand. He cast an eye over the things John had picked out. Grudgingly, he admitted they were what he'd have chosen himself, and quickly got changed. Drying his hair on the towel, he wandered into the main room of the apartment, only to find John waiting. "Don't think that you're coming along. Just cos you're screwing one of them doesn't mean you have a monogrammed invite to this." Justin threw the wet towel over the back of a chair, before John picked it up and, sighing, hung it over a radiator.

"Actually, I am. Mrs Scolese said I could. And besides, I'm your friend. I'll be there to hold your hand all the way through it."

Justin narrowed his eyes at him, ignoring the tiny part of his brain that squirmed with joy at the thought of John holding his hand. "I think you'll find that I'm perfectly capable of conducting this by myself. I don't need anyone to help me with it."

John shrugged. "Suit yourself." Sitting down, he flicked on the TV and started to undo his shirt.

Torn between leaving then, and waiting to see John take his shirt off, Justin opened his mouth, then shut it, sighing. "Look, if you really want to come, you can."

John grinned, and stood back up. "Heh, I knew you'd let me go. You couldn't go through it without me. I know that, and you know that."

Justin half smiled, as John grabbed his keys and turned the TV off. He would feel better having John go along with him, and he was very glad Mrs Scolese would be there too. Somehow, earlier, he'd felt sort of safe talking to her, like his mom. Only better, because she knew about it, and his real mom was still trying to set him up with the girl next door. That was one of the reasons he was going through with this tonight. No matter how much he agonised about it, or complained to John, he knew that in less than half an hour, he'd be sitting in Mrs Scolese's kitchen, and he'd be doing it. Being brave.

Gabrielle nursed a margherita in one hand, while playing with one of Carlos' old stress balls that had been in the desk, along with the vodka. After she'd sent John off home to help Justin only a couple of hours ago, she'd been mentally screaming about what she was doing. She'd wanted to call it all off, and just spend the evening getting smashed, and then skinny-dipping in the hot tub. She wasn't really sure why, exactly, but it could have had something to do with trying to prove to herself that she was too immature to have a kid. It would have worked, too.

But instead, she was still here, only a little way along drunk, enough to still be classified Dutch courage rather than tipsy. The other wives knew they were coming for something to do with Bree, although when Gabrielle had called Lynette's house she'd been subjected to the three boys high on cookies in the background and poor Lynette rambling about Tom being cut up and hidden under the paving stones if he wasn't home in the next ten minutes. Gabrielle still didn't understand why she'd got rid of the nanny. Sure, her husband had fancied a bit, but the girl had got the job done! If Gabrielle's husband had been doing that, (although, she reminded herself, she'd never, ever be having children) she'd have been paying the nanny extra!

Susan had been sitting at home, dejected. Mike was away doing a 'big plumbing job', which Gabrielle had taken to interpreting as 'He's away, possibly mixed up with a criminal gang and has a fifty percent chance of not coming home, but I find denial is the best way to deal with it'. The woman sure had some staying power. She momentarily considered her two friends, before nodding once to herself, and going into the kitchen to make up some more margheritas for when they got over. If she felt bad enough to need one, she could only imagine how her two friends would feel after their respective days.

She'd only just finished mixing when the first knock sounded on her door. It was Susan. The woman walked in with a sad smile. "I couldn't stand being in that house any more."

Gabrielle patted her on the back. "Was it really that lonely?"

Susan looked at her with incomprehension, before shaking her head. "No, the loneliness I can take. It was Bree's daughter. Crying. Again. Loudly." She glanced imploringly at Gabrielle. "Tell me we're going to be sorting that out. I need sleep! Julie thinks she's the only one being kept awake by it! And it's really killing my sex drive too. I mean, do you know how off-putting it is to just be getting into it -"

"Susan, sharing time is over now. Please. A little too much information." Susan blushed, and Gabrielle shook her head. "You look like you need drink. I've been making margheritas. I'll go get you one. Stay here."

Susan went into the living room, and Gabrielle went to pour the drink. Just as she'd come back, and was handing one to Susan, another knock came. She glanced down at Susan, who shrugged. "It's too early for Lynette. She'll be at least fifteen minutes late."

Opening the door, Gabrielle found Justin and John both standing there. "Good, you're both here. Justin, go through." She almost pulled him in, and then pushed him into the living room. Then she leant closer to John. "Susan's here."

He looked at her with incomprehension. "Isn't that good? I thought you wanted all the wives here for this."

"Well, I did. But I haven't told Susan that we're still seeing each other. That you're still...tending to my clematis." She layered the last phrase with meaning, but John didn't get the pun.

"Well, today is a day for telling people things. Why should it matter what she thinks?"

Gabrielle thought for a second. John's parents knew now, and even if his mother didn't like it much, at least Susan was now absolved of all physical connection with their son. She should technically be fine about it...but still. "I suppose. But wait with me until Lynette's here, okay?"

John shrugged. "Fine, then. I feel guilty about just letting Justin go in there all by himself though..." They looked through into the sitting room, where Susan and Justin, both with their backs to Gabrielle and John, sat on the couch as far apart as it was possible to be.

Gabrielle shrugged. "Meh. What can you do? Come on. I have margheritas waiting to be poured in the kitchen."

In the living room, Justin could sense the tension. Someone was going to have to speak, or make eye contact, and the minute they did the room was going to get even more unbearable. He glanced over at Susan, who chose that exact moment to look over at him. Their looks slid past each other with horrible embarrasment at the timing, and both gave a quick polite smile and went back to studying their feet and the wallpaper. Then Susan drew a breath, and he knew it was over.

"So...do you garden for Gabrielle?" she asked, a bright smile floodlighting her face, making it seem all the more awkward. Justin inwardly grimaced, while translating that into a mirror of her smile outwards.

"No. I did, but John takes care of all her needs now." Her face drooped, and Justin realised what he'd said. Aware that to keep talking would only get everyone into more trouble, he couldn't stop as his mouth rattled on. "Not in the bedroom, I meant the garden! I'm sure he does whatever she needs wherever she needs it. Oh, no, I didn't mean that. Not like that. I...I'm going to stop."

"I shouldn't have left you two alone, should I." Gabrielle was making a statement, not asking a question. She walked in from where she'd been standing just by the door, and handed Susan a drink. "Neck it. You need it." Then she turned to Justin. "You don't get any. If this is you sober..."

Susan sat up. "Hold on for just one moment here. Are you still seeing John? Even after all the trouble he's caused?"

Gabrielle sighed. "Susan. Look. Drink the nice drink, and don't think about it any more, okay?"

"I don't see how I'm going to be able to just forget about this..." She took a sip of her margherita, and shock momentarily registered. Slowly she sank back into the sofa. "Oh, that's a good margherita."

Gabrielle smiled. "It should be. I'm not just a pretty face. I made it extra powerful, so as to help with John. Mention if you need another. Should help get us past the awkward moments."

Susan smiled, her eyelids closing slightly. "Mmmm..."

The doorbell went again, heralding Lynette's arrival. Gabrielle opened it, and the mother almost collapsed through the door. "You'd better have some booze ready for me, Gabrielle. Those kids...take my ovaries."

Wordlessly, Susan passed over her already empty glass, and Gabrielle went to refill it and get Lynette hers. Beckoning, she led the boy into the kitchen. Justin looked at her. "Yeah. I didn't think it was a good idea to let me stay in there either."

"Mmm. That was what I needed you for. But seeing as you're in here, take the drinks around." SHe shoved a silver tray into his hands.

"I'm not your waiter!"

"Hey, be glad I'm not making you wear an apron!"

Justin looked down, counting four drinks. "Hey, where's mine?"

Gabrielle looked over, one painstakingly plucked eyebrow raised. "Because I can't trust you not to blurt things out when you're sober? Because we need to be informed of things you won't be able to say tipsy? Because you're young?"

"John's getting one..." Justin grumbled.

"John's getting a lot of things you aren't, dear. Get over it, and get used to it. Now go."

Justin narrowed his eyes momentarily, and went through. Susan took her second drink with a lazy smile, and Lynette threw her a suspicious glance before taking her glass as through it were about to explode. "How strong is this, out of interest? I'll need to walk across the street after this. Will I still be able to?"

Justin looked into the remaining drinks. "...honestly? Most likely not. It seems strong enough to strip the paint from wood. Mrs Meyer has only had one, and she's already like that." He motioned to Susan, who was crooning to her booze.

Lynette pondered, then shrugged. "Eh. I'll stumble."

Gabrielle and John came in too, and each took a glass, before sitting. Gabrielle smiled across at everyone else, before motioning. "I suppose you all want to find out what I wanted you all here for. We've all seen a little of what's happening to Bree, but no one really knows. Except...", she looked meaningfully over, "young Justin here. Justin?"

Justin took a breath, and started his tale.

As Andrew tapped the phone on the windowsill, his frown got deeper and deeper. Justin called every day, every evening, always with the same pleading tone in his voice. Just checking up on him. That he was at home. And if he wasn't, he'd leave one little message, 'just to say hi'. It bugged him that the boy kept checks on him, that he felt the need to talk to him every day. In fact, yesterday he would probably have given a lot to escape from those. Sure, sex was good, but the calls, the whiny, pleading calls, those got annoying. However, it annoyed him all the more that today, the hours were dragging on and the phone was not ringing. Not even a whisper.

He snarled, and threw the phone to the floor. How DARE he not call? What was wrong with the boy? Did he suddenly think he could just stop seeing him? Especially considering the way he'd just snuck out that morning. "I gave him a night of mindblowing sex, and he thinks that he can just run off, without even saying goodbye, or even good morning?" Andrew muttered. He glared at the neighbour who glanced up to look through his window from theirs. Flipping the bird, he turned away from the window and threw himself full length on the bed.

He knew that he could be an asshole sometimes. Every time he was with Justin, for some reason he couldn't stop himself from saying something. Something that just ruined the moment. He could feel Justin tense each time, and he wished he could apologise, but he just kept going. And that stunt he'd pulled yesterday, god. That must have screwed Justin up. It was just...he knew his mother was screwed up, and he'd be supportive, but he couldn't. Not after what she'd said to him, and not after what she'd done on the night of his fathers death. He hadn't told Justin about that bit, he hadn't told anyone. It was his little secret, a family thing. Kept between him, Danielle and Mom. One of the few things that still bound them together.

Andrew turned over. He refused to think about his family. Instead he turned his mind back to Justin. Only that morning they'd been together, on this bed. Mom had changed the sheets already, probably more than twice, but he could still smell the other boy, if only in his mind. Feel his skin, the warmth coming off him, body heat being the only thing keeping him warm, since the sheets had been kicked off the end of the bed already. Andrew remembered Justins skin under his fingers, his hair being tousled by a soft hand, the sensation of his mouth around Justins...

Andrew reached down, pushing his hand into his jeans. Eyes shut, he gently rubbed his hand across the length inside, imagining Justin underneath his fingers. He was the submissive one in the relationship, always the one on his knees, so to speak. He rolled his tongue in his mouth, almost physically feeling Justin still inside him. With the dreaming, and the fact the memories were still fresh in his mind, the moment was coming quick. Moaning quietly, he writhed, leaving rumples on the bedsheet from his legs. Slowly he spread them, trying to imagine what Justin would feel like between them, actually being in him. They'd not been all the way yet, but it was something that they were working up to. Until then, Andrew could dream, and he did. Regularly.

"...and that's basically what happened this morning. And last night, I suppose as well. I told you about what happened then as well, didn't I?" Justin looked around at the shocked, awed, disgusted and confused faces, and decided he must have done. And that was just Susan.

"So...heh...you know the whole story now, huh? What do you think? I mean, not about Andrew and me. Advice on what I should do there probably isn't your area of expertise. I know one of your stepfathers was gay, Susan, but it still doesn't give you the best viewpoint. Maybe one of your sons is gay, Mrs Scavo?" Just stop, just stop, why won't my mouth just stop? "You have about a one in three chance of one of them being that way, although I've heard people say that if you were on the pill before coming off it and then getting pregnant it increases the likelihood of one of them being a queen, because it's something about extra female hormones being present when the child is developing, and that's what the Pill does, creates an overdose of oestrogen, yeah, I'm learning about it in Biology-"

Gabrielle kicked him in the crotch. As he keeled over, gasping, she looked down on him with pity. "Sorry, Justin. Desperate times, right? It was the only one I could think of that would shut you up quickly enough."

"But...gasp...couldn't you just have said stop?"

"It had got past that point, Justin. And besides, I think Lynette was about to go for them too. At least this way you still have a chance of having kids." She made her wire thin smile. "Though I guess that's a little obslete, huh?"

Susan looked at Lynette in confusion, who shrugged. "Don't look at me. I'm still stuck on the fact that Bree's family isn't perfect. Well, not so much stuck on as still mentally gloating over."

Susan opened her mouth, then shut it again. "Okay, so am I. That doesn't make it right."

John sat amongst the confusion throwing back the last of his margherita. Justin looked up at him from the floor. "What you doing?"

"I'm trying to escape fcrom this entire subject, and getting smashed looks like the one option still available to me. Other than suicide."

Gabrielle looked around at the assembled, and sighed. "There should have been more vodka in the drink. I never put enough vodka in the drink..." she muttered. She glared at Justin. "Come on. Get back up. No need to spend all of your time on your knees, much as you may enjoy it."

He crawled to his feet. "For your information, I'm usually the dominant one," he muttered.

She looked around, the eyebrow almost disappearing into her hairline. "Erm. Ew?"

Turning back, she clapped her hands once. "Ahem. Attention please?" Slowly order restored, and Gabrielle looked at the other two wives. "So...you know why we brought you here tonight. Now we should really discuss-"

"Actually, Gabrielle...you've not once mentioned why you actually want us here. You started by saying something about Bree, and what was happening to her recently, then we got a lecture about how not to let our children grow up. Well, alright, one about...the blonde, but I got a lot of stuff from that about what not to let Parker, or any of the others, ever, ever do." Lynette looked at Susan, who's eyes were still darting back and forth in confusion.

Gabrielle sighed, and threw her arms down by sides in frustration. "Okaaay, so I credit you with a little too much speed. We have to help Bree."

"We know that, Gabrielle. But, like we've seen, we can't do anything-"

"But he can." Gabrielle interrupted. "Justin can. She'll let him in. No one else, only him. Since...since Rex passed away, we've tried to give her the support, but we can't get her the help she needs. However, as we hear, Justin can. Or rather, he is the help she needs. We're going to back him up, give him stuff to use. We don't know what she'll need, or what he'll need to help her. But we're going to do it, and we're going to do it right."

The two other housewives looked at each other with apprehension in their eyes. Susan sighed. "Bree would do the same for us, I suppose."

Lynette rolled her eyes. "Yeah, like we'll ever be in the same situation." Susan reached over and gave her a gentle slap on the arm. Lynette sighed. "But sure, I guess we could help. Give the kid a hand." She gave Justin a distracted smile, while Susan still furrowed her brow. Out of confusion rather than annoyance or anything else, though.

Justin looked over at Gabrielle. The woman had a triumphant look in her eyes, and as he gazed, she glanced at him, and raised her glass in salute. "Happy hunting, Justin" she whispered across the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I'm a pretty girl, and pretty girls are never lonely. However, they can get sued, and I don't wanna get sued. And so...ta-da! I own none of the characters and stuff. So live with it. Kisses!

Psychiatrists notes - Bree Van De Kamp

We made very little progress this week. Bree's defenses were at an all time high. We spoke extensively about knitting, bedsheets, gardening, a range of subjects. None of which so much as touched upon the subject of Bree's husband, children, or anything that could have possibly set off one of the admittedly uncommon moments in which Bree's shell cracks. I feel that there must be something that triggers this now, although at the same time I get the impression that Bree is becoming more cunning in avoiding these triggers. I have a plan which I think I will have to test next time, as I feel that it could be a deciding factor in my analysis of what has caused Bree to retreat into this state.

Andrew paced back and forth. He'd been awake until one in the morning waiting for Justin to call, and had woken up early too, to check his phone for messages, but nothing. "How does he think he can just go all cold suddenly? What is wrong with him? What is wrong with me? After everything I've done for that boy, all the sacrifices I've made-"

"All the blowjobs you've given him..." R-J muttered. The boy was sat on the edge of the swimming pool, while Andrew paced behind him. Since Paul Young had left, and Zack had disappeared soon after him, Andrew spent a lot of time in the pool out back of their house. He'd even cleaned it out himself a couple of times, and he was starting to think of it as his own. No one had moved into the Young house, and Andrew wasn't even sure if it was even up for sale. Certainly Edie Britt hadn't been around with any new faces.

He turned back to the other boy. He didn't really like R-J, but he smoked dope too, and they'd both been on the swim team at high school. R-J hadn't ever gone on to college, and they mostly just hung out for the sake of having someone else to talk to. Andrew had told him about him and Justin, although not the whole story, for the sake of having someone to bounce stuff off concerning the relationship. Truth be told, it was a great arrangement. R-J was too stoned most of the time to remember things he was told five minutes after, so there was no chance that anyone else would find out anything. Andrew was quite proud of that bit of cunning.

"Don't be crude. Why would he not call? What would he have been doing last night that meant he couldn't call? He always calls! For the last month or two, he's called every night, he wouldn't just stop!" Andrew kicked a pebble into the still water, sending ripples across it and onto R-J's legs. R-J carefully rolled a joint, his second of the day.

"Maybe..." R-J let the word just hang in the air as he lit and inhaled. Andrew watched, tapping a foot on the floor as the other boy sank back onto the sun warmed paving stones with his eyes closed.

"Well? Maybe what?" Andrew spat, once he thought R-J had had enough time to speak. R-J opened a single eye.

"Huh?"

Andrew sighed. "You just said 'maybe...'. Then you left it. What were you going to say?"

R-J scratched his chest. "Uh...I dunno now." Andrew wanted to kick him, which must have shown in his eyes, as the other boy tried to scramble up to his feet, getting about halfway before the drugs took over and he gave up.

"Sorry, sorry. I remember. Maybe your boy found another fag to screw, I was going to say. I mean, the dude musta been looking for someone else. I've seen Queer As Folk. These gayboys are like rabbits."

"Hey, shit for brains. I'm one of those fags."

"And so my point is proven."

Andrew snarled, and went for R-J again, trying to force him into the pool. The other boy had spent ages cultivating the strain of weed he was smoking, however, and it was some of the most powerful stuff about. R-J simply lay there like a rock, before Andrew finally gave up and sat, arms around his knees, with his back to the low wall surrounding the pool. "It doesn't make any sense. It was all going fine last night, I thought. We messed around all night, and he seemed normal."

"Did you, like, even actually talk to him? Or did you just, as usual, grab for it the moment he came in?"

Andrew glowered. "That's what always happens. Our relationship is based on sex. Comfortable sex. We can just mess around with each other, and we both know it's only for the night." He didn't mention the fact Justin sometimes only wanted to sleep with him, without doing anything, or to cuddle. He also didn't mention the fact that he enjoyed it almost as much as he suspected Justin did.

R-J shrugged, and blew a smoke ring. Andrew took this to mean the end of the conversation and put his head in his hands. R-J had given words to what Andrew had suspected, that Justin had another boyfriend, or girlfriend, or whatever. Just that he was getting some elsewhere than just from Andrew, and this was not a situation Andrew was wanting to accept. Especially considering the worrying attachment the younger boy felt towards the older one. "Big faggot better not have abandoned me" he muttered, trying to hide his feelings behind the insult. He wasn't sure who he was trying to hide them from, but he had a sneaking suspicion it was himself.

"Thanks for coming with me, Julie. I'm...I'm not sure I could have handled this by myself. I've never liked cemeteries."

Julie refrained from saying, who does? Mainly because she could see Danielle was pretty much on the verge of breaking already. It was not the time to joke. Not the time to make fun. Just, not the time.

They were walking through the enormous cemetery that had always in living memory served as the final resting place of every Wisteria Lane resident who had kicked the proverbial bucket. All around them, the gravestones stuck up, row upon row of them, the pattern occasionally broken by the odd walk-in tomb. Julie spotted the Solis monstrosity in the distance, the flowers even at that length looking dead. 'Just like everything else in this creepy place' thought Julie, as she followed Danielle in the direction of her fathers plot.

"There it is." Julie looked past Danielle. The grave she pointed at was looking distinctly bare, the eight stones surrounding it lain with flowers and notes and toys, creating a colourful circle around the slab of black stone. The effect was wierd, and Julie shuddered as she realised Mr Van Der Kamps headstone was the only one in at least a five hundred metre circle not to be adorned with something.

Danielle clutched the bunch of lilies she'd brought her dad. It felt like a poor offering. She'd never found out what her fathers favourite flowers were. It wasn't the kind of thing they'd talked about. Whenever there had been bouquets in the house, they'd either been bought by Mom, or her father had bought the traditional. Red roses for love, or apologies, the amount corresponding exactly. He'd been broken in by her mother, ever since he'd picked up a random amount and she's seperated them into a bunch of twelve, one of six, and then four single roses. She'd even sniffed as she stepped back to look at them. 'There's nothing that's really _said_ by twenty roses, especially' she'd muttered. Danielle was six at the time, and it was one of her most vivid memories. That was the first time she saw her mother might be turning into something...else.

She looked back at Julie, who had hung back at the headstone in front of her father. "I'll just be a minute. I want to say some stuff to him."

Julie nodded, and walked a respectful distance away. Danielle knelt down, and rested the flowers against the base of the stone. Rocking back on her heels, she stared at the engraved writing. Only seconds ago, she'd have said anything, everything to her dad. Her and John, Andrew, her mother, the fact that she was really confused about the entirety of her life right now, at that very moment. But then, suddenly, seeing the chiselled marks that were the only testament to her daddy's life, that one day would disappear, leaving nothing left of the one person who could make her feel better whenever, the one who never let her down, she started to realise he was gone. The only person, in the whole world, who she'd loved. Her mother, John, her brother, she liked them, they could make her feel safe, but she couldn't say with any conviction that she loved them. Not the way she'd loved her dad.

It could have been the fact he was gone now, the fact that he wasn't here with all his minor faults, that she only remembered him being perfect. She'd disregarded all the times he'd not turned up for a school concert, hadn't been as supportive as he could have been with all her club joining, and only remembered getting the perfect Christmas present from him, the smile on his face when she learned to ride a bike from him, the way he'd hugged her when she'd been injured. He'd always been the emotion oin the family, with her and Andrew, the one who got passionate about subjects he cared about, the one who gave hugs with meaning, who smiled properly, rather than just strech the sides of his mouth up like her mother. Mom was the logic, Dad the emotion. Both together were supposed to make the perfect parent. Clearly that hadn't worked out.

"Hi Daddy. I hope you're okay..." Where was she supposed to go from here? Danielle's eyes suddenly welled up with tears.

"I'm really sorry I haven't been to visit yet, but my life's been really complicated recently..." one teardrop fell onto the ground, "and I don't see why I'm making excuses to a slab of marble." She sucked in a breath, but it caught in her throat and made her choke. Sobbing and gasping at the same time, anguished noises coming out of her throat like birds, she slowly leant forward, feeling the breath flow easier from her lungs until her forehead touched the grass, the cut marks still visible from where it had been pulled off then rolled back into place, hiding the unsightly scar of earth on the ground.

"I'm...so sorry, Daddy. Don't be disappointed in me." Danielle whispered into the sod, before closing her eyes and squeezing the last of the water from her eyes. She felt a warm hand in the small of her back, and pulled herself back up into a sitting position. Julie looked at her face with worry.

"Don't worry. I'm fine. All part of the grieving process, you know." Danielle streched her face into a watery grin, which disappeared as soon as Julie roughly grabbed her and pulled her into a strong hug.

"Don't hide from me, Danni. We know each other too well for this. Talk to me." Danielle felt fresh tears well up in her eyes, but these weren't ones of sadness this time. She pushed them back, and closed her arms around Julie, returning the hug.

"That's all I wanted to hear. Come on. I'm fine." They both got up and, with Julie's arm around Danielles waist supporting her, slowly made their way to the graveyard entrance.

Gabrielle drummed her finders on the steering wheel, as she stared across the street at the big white building on the other side of the road. There was no way in Hell anyone could mistake it for a school, despite the green gardens and elegant stonework. The bars on the windows and the buzzing fence were slight giveaways, although Gabrielle personally would have put them on in a school. No, it was the air of darkness around the place, and the fact that even in this blazing sunlight the grounds were empty, not even birds twittering.

The prison was still a prison, no matter how much the outside was dressed up. Carlos was in there with all the other local Fairview criminals, mostly white collar embezzelers, con artists and the like, screwing old people and the stupid out of their nest egg, and a couple of high class drug dealers. Gabrielle didn't go in there much, as she always imagined that, as she walked past, all the men were undressing her with their eyes, she was driving them into a frenzy of lust, it was only those flimsy bars that kept them from her. She smiled mischieviously. If she went more often, it wouldn't feel as good when she imagined it. That's why she was wearing the teeny-weeny black skirt. Although that was as much a present for Carlos as it was for the other inmates.

She slipped out of the hatchback, and tugged at her hem. Slowly she strutted across the parking lot, then the street. As the glass doors slid noiselessly apart in front of her, she felt the gust of cool, air-conditioned breeze that ran through the entire prison. This wasn't some blue-collar craphole (she mentally grimaced at using a word like that). This was one of the cushiest, classiest, most expensive places in the state. Now Carlos had accepted the plea-bargain, she had access to the bank accounts, as well as the hospital settlement, so they were no longer in money trouble. Gabrielle had still had to consider whether to let Carlos fry in the state penitentiary, though. She thought he deserved to feel some punishment. Morally challenged though she could be, she knew slavery was wrong, and not even a pair of leather Gucci stillettos handcrafted by a deft two year old Vietnamese kid could change her mind.

Still, Gabrielle had 'enrolled' Carlos here. She wanted to punish him, but she'd heard what could happen in less up-market state prisons. She'd loved Carlos once, maybe still loved him. She didn't want any red-neck Bubbas or Billy Bobs turning his ass into a windsocket. Not while she owned it, anyway.

The clerk behind the desk looked up and smiled as she approached the desk, and Gabrielle shuddered inwardly. It was one of _those_ clerks. The kind that are always bright and cheerful, no matter what they're telling you you can't do, right up until you just want to gouge out their eyes. She fixed a plastic smile onto her own face, and stepped forward. " I'm here to see my husband. Carlos Solis? I have a private visit with him."

The clerk nodded, and turned to his computer screen for a moment, tapping something in. He furrowed his brow, and bit his bottom lip. "Mrs Solis, is that right?"

She nodded, and the clerk gave her a sympathetic smile. "I'm afraid we won't be able to allow you to see your husband today. He was engaged in some illegal activity yesterday night, and the guards took away his visiting rights for today. You could make another appointment, if you wish?"

Gabrielle felt her grin droop slightly, before she holstered it back up. Years of dealing with uncooperative people had taught her to fight dirty in situations like this, so long as she got what she wanted. "I'm afraid that would be impossible, you see, I only occaisionally get the opportunity to drive out here. My family commitments keep me busy, and I couldn't leave my...son alone for too long." She laughed silently. It was probably wrong to invent children, but she wouldn't have to pay for it for a long time, she didn't think...

"You have a child? That's not programmed into the system. But still. I'm unable to allow you see your husband. I suggest you find someone to look after your child on another day."

Gabrielle heard the slightly steely note enter the clerks voice, but decided to risk pushing it. She leant forward onto the sill of the desk, brushing her coat out of the way, and squeezed her arms together, like Marilyn Monroe, emphasising her already quite impressive cleavage. She flashed the clerk another, more dangerous smile, while reading the name off his tag. "Oh no, I wouldn't want to offend anyone...David. What an attractive name! Are you sure that you couldn't DO anything for ME right now? I wouldn't tell anyone." She winked. She was a professional model. Using her body to get what she wanted was second nature. And there was no way anyone could resist her.

The clerk glanced at her chest briefly and unconcernedly, before slowly bringing his gaze up to meet Gabrielle's, withering her smile on the spot. Without looking, he reached across to the computer, and tapped one key. "Oh, I'm afraid it looks like there's nothing I can do for you. I'm terribly sorry. Looks like you'll have to come back tomorrow."

Gabrielle leant back, her eyes widening. Then she shook her head, and leant back forwards, pushing her boobs up even further. "I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch that. Are you telling me I CAN'T see my husband?"

The clerk smiled thinly. "No way, no how. Now, I believe the door is over there, madam."

Gabrielle turned, and started to walk away, her body on autopilot. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, as the clerk leant over the desk. "One thing, Mrs Solis. Terrible though it may be, your breasts won't work as currency everywhere. And please, don't come back and wave them in my face as though I'm meant to care. I found out a long time ago that I'm remarkably immune to them, if you know what I'm saying."

With that, he released her, and sunk back into his chair with a smug smile, and resumed his typing. Gabrielle stood still, except for a slow narrowing of her eyes. Finally she turned back to him. "You mean to say..."

"Yes, Mrs Solis. I. Like. Men. And your udders aren't going to get you anywhere near your husband. Off the record, of course." He smirked up at her. She looked down. Udders? Oooh...

"David. Are we still off the record?"

"Why, certainly, Mrs Solis. Give it your best shot."

As she jumped into her car across the road, Gabrielle smiled, satisfied. He'd said it was off the record, and that she should give it her best shot, so she had. Although he probably hadn't been expecting to get maced.

**Okay, I'm gonna start on the next one right now. Hope you enjoy this one, despite the thickness of the wording. And the absence of Justin. Hmm...I predict gratuitous nudity in the next installment;).**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Yaddah yaddah yaddah. Look, do you want Justin's shower scene or not!

Psychiatrists notes - Bree Van Der Kamp

I can sincerely say I have not had an experience like that in all my years as a psychiatrist, and it will undoubtedly only serve to back up my theories on Mrs Van Der Kamp. Shocking and dangerous though it was, it was one of the highlights of my career, and it is with a feeling of elation that I even write about it. Although I perhaps overstep myself. I'll recount the tale, for any who read these notes.

Before my session with Bree, I set up a video camera, along with the usual tape recording of the interview. I'm unsure why, if she had found out there would have been lawsuits about invasion of privacy etc, but I somehow knew that my plan to get through Bree's shell would work. Don't ask me how, maybe this is just assigning emotions in retrospect. But I think I did.

She arrived, and I begun the interview normally, asking about her daily life, and her children. Effectively what we talk about anyway...

_Andrew and Danielle? You know what children are like, Dr Goldsmith. Some days I just despair about what my son decides to wear. What I wouldn't give for a return to the days when I could dress him in a nice suit. And comb those tangles out of that hair! But he just doesn't want to. Boys will be boys, I suppose. And what about your children?_

_I don't have any children, Mrs Van Der Kamp. We've discussed this before._

_Oh yes. Of course._

_Do you remember our other sessions, Bree?_

_Why, of course I do, Doctor! I'm just a little tense today. You know how children are._

_No. I don't._

It went the same way as all our other interviews have gone, although this time I tried to play along generally, avoiding the triggers I mentioned last time. I lulled her into a false sense of security, I believe, which made it much easier for me to put the next part of my plan into action. I'm still unsure about the levels of consciousness Bree has, and whether, to some degree, part of her realised what I was trying to do, and allowed it, maybe even helped me. In the end, of course, both of us were thwarted by what I have named 'Id'. But everything in good time. I began to test my theory...

_Bree, I want to talk about Rex. Your husband. Do you remember your husband?_

_Yes, I remember my husband. I did see him only this morning, Doctor. Have I told you what my husband does, Doctor? He's a doctor too! Not the same kind as you, he's a proper doctor. You must move in the same circles. Have you ever heard of him?_

_Bree, do you know where your husband is?_

_Yes, at work. Dear me, doctor, if all we're going to do is make small talk I really don't think that you should be charging quite what you are at the moment._

_Your husband is dead. He has been for almost two months._

_Bree? Can you hear me? Your husband is dead._

An impartial observer may say my treatment of Bree was cruel, harsh, perhaps even in the extreme. And looking back, I'd be tempted to agree with them. Never before in my sessions with Bree had I forced her to face the truth about her husbands demise. I know, from re-reading my notes, that I had said it was at first because she was too fragile, but then I simply discounted it. I now realise that I didn't want to hurt her. A perfectly acceptable trait in a human being, one might say, but I suspect now I was being too kind. I had to take a hard-nosed approach, as it appeared to be the only way that I was going to get through to Bree. What happened next proved just how far I got through...

_Doctor. Help me._

_Bree?_

_I don't want to face it, I can't face it, don't make me face it, but I have to. If I don't face it, I can't stop what I see-_

_Bree? Bree?_

_-It's like a mask, you're like a mask, but I'm protecting you, you need me, I don't need you, I need my life back-_

_Sandy, call 911._

_-stop it! Get out of me! You'll wake him, what are you doing, don't Bree, let me back, I'll protect us both, I'll hide us-_

_Bree, listen to me. What are you stuck in? I want to talk to Bree. Where is she?_

_-doctor, help me, I don't have long-_

_Is it really you Bree? This isn't the mask?_

_-It's me, it's me, I need help, but not from you, there's someone, you can help him-_

_What?_

Ridiculously, at this point, I almost thought she was seeing another psychiatrist.

_-Help him, he can get me out-_

_Why can I not help you?_

_-I can trust him not to use this against me, I can talk to him and no-one else, not even you, doctor, because-_

_Does this man-_

_-boy-_

_-boy exist, Bree? Is he real?_

_-he's real, I know he's real I've seen him, I've talked to him, help him, however you can, but don't try yourself, or I'll never escape the shame, I can trust him, I have a hold over him, I know things, it's coming back doctor, no, no, he's coming, it warned me, it did, I did, I told you, and now he's awake, and he's coming-_

The rest of the tape consists of a scream, before it cut out. The sofa did land on it, I suppose. I was lucky to retrieve the tape intact up to that point. However, the video recorder concealed in the bookcase caught the rest, and I was shocked by some of the footage that it managed to film.

Bree flings the doctor off with ease, and leaps to her feet. She turns to the camera momentarily, and shows that her face has changed. Rather than being the polite mask of the personality called 'It', or being the scared, manic one we've come to associate with 'Bree' herself, this one is more terrifying. It seems to be expressionless, but at the same time it is screaming loudly, keeningly, and the eyes are wide.

She picks up the end of the couch and throws it over the table. There is a crunch as it collapses, and the doctor looks horrified as he sees his beloved tape recorder has been crushed, before he blacks out. Bree flings herself at him, but as she does a man and a woman burst in. The woman covers her mouth with her hands as she beholds Bree, but the man reacts quicker. Grabbing Bree around the waist, he spins her around, away from the doctor, and pins her against the wall. She reaches out and claws down his face, leaving four vertical scratches, but he holds on. Suddenly, she goes limp, and the man is able to lay her down. The man tells the woman to go and call an ambulance, and she leaves. The man starts to tend to the doctor.

It was lucky that my next appointment had been with James 'Rocky' McAnvin, to try and solve his violent tendancies. I personally saw it as a very good field test, as he was able to contain any desire to punch the living daylights out of Mrs Van Der Kamp, whilst still being able to take the punishment, his talent for which he was given the name 'Rocky'. He's now doing very well.

However, he is not our concern here. Bree was taken to A&E, along with me, and she woke up later with no recollection of the events. I suspect that next time I see her she will have blanked out even her awakening in hospital, instead choosing to believe she spent the afternoon making her beds. I'm going to allow 'It' time to recover, and to recompose myself as well. I took a nasty bump to the head when 'Id' threw me across the room. From my experience, I've defined at least two alternate personalities. One seems to refer to itself as 'It', and I've decided to call it that too. The other one was only named as 'him', or 'he' as the other two characters, and 'he' didn't give himself a name when he was dominant. I've decided to call him 'Id' as stated above, the embodiment of the baser urges of human nature. I think it's fitting.

As for this 'boy' Bree spoke of, it would appear at first that he doesn't exist. I have a feeling, however, somehow, that I'll be hearing something more of him. Somehow, he's a very important piece of this jigsaw.

**Damn! I lied about Justin featuring, didn't I? Alright, I promise excessive Justin in the next one, okay? Seriously this time. This thing just surprised me by coming out of effectively nothing. I hadn't been planning to write this until about chapter seven! Gasp, ahead of myself a bit! Anyway, sorry about the lack of entertainment in this one. I had to be serious for once.**

**I'm going out tomorrow. With a BOY! EEEEEEEEEE!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Jeez, Judith, okay already! You want me to start writing, I'll start writing! Gad! What are you, my overbearing workaholic mother?**

**---------------------------**

Psychiatrists notes - Bree Van Der Kamp

After the debacle two weeks ago, I was unsure as to the...sense of seeing her again. With such a unique case, I couldn't be sure as to whether any of her personalities (the dangerous ones, I mean) would recognise me and see me as a threat. But the matter was taken out of my hands. Bree turned up to see me anyway, on the dot. Sandy, my receptionist, tells me that she was here the previous week, when I was still in the hospital, regular as clockwork. Even when the poor girl told her that I wasn't here and that she would call the police if she didn't leave, Mrs Van Der Kamp gave her a polite smile and started chatting about needlework. Sandy couldn't even dial 911, she was so petrified. I may start to hire proper security for my office, especially now James no longer has the appointment after Bree.

Still, this week, Bree turned up and was as nice as pie. Perhaps there was some vestigial guilt from putting me in the ER, but apart from a slight increase in her willingness to co-operate, I still saw no progress made. Not that I was truly probing her for weakness. My collarbone is still fragile.

Instead, I was perfectly happy to indulge in small talk this week. One hundred dollars in return for an hour of small talk and the ever present threat of GBH. I personally consider it a fair trade. I may try and begin the experimentation next week, but in the meantime I can work on the thesis for the National Medical Journal. This may be the case to make my fortune...

-----------------------------

Gabrielle pulled back into her drive, the adreneline from macing the clerk having disappeared somewhere between the jail and home, exhausted. She sat in her car for a minute, head bowed. There would be repercussions for that, she knew. You couldn't just go around macing employees of the prison holding your husband and expect nothing to happen. Unfortunately. She could wipe the next conjugal visit off the calendar. Carlos, too, wouldn't be pleased. Then again, she could lie it was his fault. Gabrielle knew her husband. He would have done something else that was stupid enough to cancel a couple of visits by the next time she went back.

She got out, and slammed the door behind her. The stress of the day was starting to get to her, and she felt a tear start to collect in her eye.

"No. I refuse to cry. I utterly, categorically, superlatively refuse to cry." Gabrielle pressed the heel of her hand into her eye, rubbing away the tear with vehemence. Another one formed in her other eye. She sat down on the porch, recognising a lost battle when she saw one, and started to sob quietly. All day things had been going wrong. Even little things had been getting to her. It had been the kind of day when the fact that the floor had been cold under her foot was a personal insult. The man overtaking her on the highway had been a slap in the face. And then the clerk at the prison. The straw that broke the horses back, as they say.

Gabrielle glanced about, checking she was alone, tears still streaming down her face. Suddenly she noticed something that she hadn't noticed before, which was a little silly of her, considering its size. Johns truck was sat outside the house, replete with gardening gear. He must be working round back, she thought.

Which would be wierd. Considering he didn't do her garden any more.

Something else that was wierd. He'd been at hers all day. He'd had a day off. So that meant someone else had brought it here. While she was out. To come see John. Someone who used the truck as well. Someone blond. And handsome. And gay.

Gabrielle knew that was a ridiculous assumption. John wasn't gay. She knew that, first...hand. She was being silly. With an ashamed smile, she opened the door and walked in. As she did, she heard Justin shout from upstairs.

"Hey, John! I need something to wear! I left my clothes downstairs!"

Gabrielle felt the smile solidify. As the sadness she'd felt a couple of seconds before flashed into rage, she felt peculiarly jolly. Her husband had beaten up the gayboy that she was just about to murder. If that didn't prove they were made for each other, nothing did.

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A Couple Of Minutes Earlier, The Solis Household

Justin turned off the hot water, and stepped out of the shower. After a day doing people's gardens, plus a couple that John had foisted onto him to get a day off, he'd felt icky. It was hot, and after shunting the mower around for eight hours straight, he'd got to that point where the only reason he wasn't sweating any more was because the old layer of sweat was clogging up his pores. Yeah. Nasty.

So when he'd got here, he'd told John he wasn't doing anything until he'd had a shower. He was so desperate for one that he'd actually been taking off his clothes as he was running up the stairs. John hadn't been happy to receieve an impromptu moony.

The other boy had wanted him to come round after he was done with the yards, to give him a hand with the surprise for Mrs Sol-Gabrielle. Justin had to stop calling her 'Mrs Solis'. John had wanted help from Justin because of his 'expert advice on cookery, and decoration and shit'. When Justin asked how he was an 'expert' in these fields, John has said 'Y'know, you're gay. It's like...a qualification, isn't it?'. Justin had come this close to hanging up.

He could cook, though, and he liked spending time around John besides, so he'd sighed, kicked his dignity behind the bushes in the Kerman's yard, and drove over. Even now, John was downstairs. So close, while Justin was so...naked. Mmm.

Looking down at himself, Justin sighed. It wasn't the time. He caught sight of himself in the full length mirror that almost covered one wall of the bathroom, which just screamed Gabrielle. Very few women were happy enough with their body to see it at every angle all at once. Gabrielle wasn't one of those. Which was good, because Justin was very happy with his body too.

He turned, experimentally, hands on hips while peering at himself. Nice pecs, and a good tan, from working shirtless outside all summer. His six pack was looking good too, although it wasn't quite as defined as it should have been. Justin made a mental note not to eat at McDonalds five days in a row ever again. Andrew had told him before about taking care of his body...but he wasn't going to think about Andrew.

Justin shook his head quickly, and went back to admiring himself. Awesome back muscles, really defined. And his ass! Pert, soft, and with not an ounce of flab anywhere! It was his favourite attribute. He had no idea why John had got so cut up about getting a flash of it. If this had been John's ass, Justin would have felt _honored _to see it. He patted it, reassuring it that it was his favourite body area.

He blushed as he turned back to face the mirror, his erection still not all gone. THAT area of his body he was happy with too, but he was naturally prudish. Unwilling to gaze at himself anymore, Justin called down the corridor to John. "Hey, John! I need something to wear! I left my clothes downstairs!"

He grabbed a towel from the rack, and started to dry his hair. When he heard the bedroom door open down from the en suite, he pulled it around his waist. "Hey, leave them on the bed. I'm naked, and I know how you felt about seeing my ass earlier!" Laughing, he turned back to the mirror again.

Suddenly, he heard the patter of small feet on the tiles. He turned, just in time to catch a foot full in the face, before darkness dropped over his eyes and he went out like a light.

------------------------------

Andrew sighed. Revenge wasn't as sweet as he'd thought it would be. In fact, it was salty. And bitter.

"You should stop drinking coffee, y'know." He looked up at R-J, perched on the wall above him, and wiped one corner of his mouth. R-J had flung his head back when he'd come, and he was still leaning backwards. Andrew slapped his leg.

"Oi, pot-head! Hello? Still here y'know?" He rocked backwards onto his heels. His knees were killing him.

R-J shook his head, and looked down at Andrew with awe in his eyes. "Dude, you're good at those."

Despite himself, Andrew felt pride well up in his chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Most of the girls who I've got one off were too wasted to know what they were doing. You really tried. You should charge."

Momentarily, Andrew thought about taking offence, then decided to let it pass. He had a rent-boy standard blow job. In a twisted, wierd, only-if-you-think-about-it-hard way, that was a pretty awesome compliment. Hell, if he never made it anywhere else, he always had something to fall back on. "Thanks, I guess. Was it the best you've ever got?"

R-J glanced down, a joint having appeared in his mouth with almost superhuman speed. "Was what the best I've ever got?"

Andrew pushed him backwards over the wall. R-J's legs stuck upwards into the air for a couple of seconds, before a cloud of smoke rose from behind them and R-J's voice drifted over the low bricks. "I was joking, you know."

"Yeah, well. Don't. I'd like to think that someone got pleasure from that, because I sure as fuck didn't. And pull your briefs up. Jesus."

R-J, with a lot of cursing, slowly pulled himself back up into a sitting position, and tucked himself back into his pants. Andrew looked at him with sorrow. "This is not what it's like with Justin."

"Ah, fuck Justin. Spliff?" Andrew took the joint being waved under his nose.

"Thanks."

"The way I see it is that you blew me because you thought you'd get revenge on Justin that way, but it just showed that Justin is what you like, not the giving head bit. So, in a way, you've just made yourself feel about a bazillion times worse. And now, you know that it's impossible to replace Justin, and that you're going to have to fight to get him back, or live your life full of regret." R-J shrugged. "Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Sorry, dude."

Andrew stood up and gave the other boy a glare. "I like you much better when you're wasted." He snatched the joint out of R-J's mouth and flicked it, and the one that he'd just given him, into the pool before storming off. The sound of the other boys shouting followed him all the way to the street.

---------------------------

Justin slowly opened his eyes, to see John bent over him, his forehead furrowed in concern. The idea that for this, getting K.O'ed was worth it quickly vanished the moment he tried to move his head.

"Dude, don't move. Gabrielle caught you hard. You're lucky she took her stilettoes off." John turned to Gabrielle, who was standing at the end of the couch pouting. "Are you going to apologise?"

"I thought you two were...y'know...doing stuff! What was I supposed to do, give you my blessing?"

"I can't believe you! You flying kick my friend, then you won't apologise to him for something that was entirely your mistake?"

"I was emotional! I had lots of rage! Lots of pent-up rage, mainly at other people."

"I'm better now, I think." Justin tried to sit up, pulling on John for support, who offered an arm to lean on, still looking at Gabrielle with daggers.

"He's my roommate, as well! And a boy! Why on earth would we have been doing anything?"

"I experimented with my roommate, why shouldn't you have done?" Gabrielle covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide.

John and Justin looked at her, with...differing expressions. John was the first to speak. "Er...what...er, what was she called?"

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Her name was Ebony, she was another model, and I didn't like it, so I'm not going to do it again. Now get those images out of your head, you pervert."

Justin tapped John on the arm. "Er, hello? Your friend who was kicked in the face by your fantasy is holding on line one?"

John shook himself, and rearranged his crotch quickly, earning two simultaneous groans of disgust from the others. "Erm...I'm not mad any more."

Gabrielle smiled, and turned to Justin, who sighed. "Well, I don't suppose I have any say in the matter, so I forgive you. Although I'd have at least checked first!"

"Point taken. Now, John, what IS he doing here?"

The two boys looked at each other guiltily, and Gabrielle narrowed her eyes. "If you're now going to admit you were having sex, I'm going to crucify you both."

"No, no, Gabrielle. Look, I thought you were going to be at the prison for longer, and I know that when you've come back before, you've been sad. So, I thought I'd make you a surprise meal. One problem, I can't cook. Justin can though, so I was going to get him to do it and pass it off as my own."

"And he was in the shower why?"

"Ah, I'll field that. I've been working all day, trying to cover John's shifts, and I felt really sweaty when I got here. John said I could have a shower before I started helping cook. I just hadn't been expecting to get taken out beforehand. Otherwise I would have brought my dancing shoes."

"Hey. I know I just kicked you, but sarcasm is my job. But...I'm sorry." Gabrielle shrugged.

The two boys stared at her in wonder. "Are you okay, Gabrielle?" John asked, tentatively.

Gabrielle frowned. "Yeah, why shouldn't I be?"

John and Justin looked at each other again, before Justin turned to her. "Well... it's just that...we've never heard you apologise...to anyone. Ever."

Gabrielle felt her foot twitch again, as Joh leant forward. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes! I have said sorry before, you know! I'm not ill! God, men!" She stormed off, and John sighed. "Dude, you okay now?"

Justin nodded. "Go on. You're the one who's doing her. See, this is why I don't like women."

------------------------------

Gabrielle sat at the top of the stairs, and watched John approach her slowly. She pondered growling at him, but it would make the analogy of escaped tiger and scared animal catcher a little too close to home. John was already crouched low enough to be at her head level. All he needed now was an enormous butterfly net.

"Look, I'm not going to bite. I'm not in the mood." John relaxed, but not by much.

"Seriously, what's up? You ran in here like a mad woman, and then you become all sensitive. Is it...you know...". John gestured vaguely at Gabrielle.

She sighed. "Are you asking if it's my period?"

He winced, before nodding. She rolled her eyes. "No. It isn't. If you're going to attribute all my mood changes to it, at least start being able to say the word 'period'."

John nodded apologetically, and sat down on the stairs next to her. "What's really up then, baby?"

Gabrielle rested her manicured nails on her chin and drummed them irritably. "I don't know. Everything. Nothing. It's all just...damn!"

She felt her eyes burn again, and her sight blurred before John wrapped his arms around her. "Now come on. If this is about Carlos, forget him, or if this is about Justin, I'll go kick him out right now. Whatever I can do to make you happy, I'll do it. Illegal, illicit, wierd. Whatever. I can't stand seeing you sad, Gabrielle."

She leant back, to look up into his eyes. They were wide, and honest looking, and Gabrielle felt her sadness turn into even more love for this man. "John, just the fact that you said that has made me happier than I've been for a long time."

He smiled at her, and she smiled back, before lightly slapping his chest. "Now, stop all this shameless affection. I'll remind you we have a gayboy downstairs. And I have a meal I'm going to cook for us. You've done enough for me today," she said, as John began to protest, "and I'm going to draft Justin in properly. I'll be doing no real work, and we might actually be able to eat something tonight. I love you, John, but the most you've ever served up is a king-size Mars Bar. You go and occupy yourself. I'll call when it's time for dinner."

He smiled. "Every single day, we get closer to being a proper couple."

Gabrielle smiled. "And for once, that doesn't scare me."

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**Weesh, that took a while, huh? I'm so waiting for when we actually get to see Justin and Andy getting it on over here in the US of Britain. Maybe it's tonight. Have fun! XXX**


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